


of sacrilege and psalms

by sunsongs



Category: Food Fantasy (Video Game)
Genre: Blood (Mentioned Like Once), Character Study, Gen, Religious Imagery & Symbolism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-22
Updated: 2019-05-22
Packaged: 2020-03-09 19:41:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 346
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18923755
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunsongs/pseuds/sunsongs
Summary: It was good, he reasoned, that he had been wearing that shade of red.-Indulgence and constraint. Blasphemer and believer. A study in contrasts, one could say.





	of sacrilege and psalms

Pretzel professed himself not as man of carnal pleasures. You could see it, in the chains wound ‘round his gauntlets, counting his prayers bead by rosary bead.

 

His piety was clasped hands and sacred song, singing until his voice went hoarse.

 

 __( _O Lord, deliver us from temptation, he murmurs when his throat constricts for the thrill: how it aches for the tang of iron, longs for the bite of steel.)_

 

Psalms murmured under his breath are more prayer than praise, more exhausted than exultant.

 

The priests could not help but stare, at times, at his intensity: the fervor that bordered on obsession; his brisk, calculated strides stripped bare of all frivolity - stiff and statuesque as the busts of saints, their expressions contorted in an expression of anguish he hoped he would never fathom. What are you running from, they wanted to ask, but never dared to cross the line.

 

He looked to heaven because there was little for him here; he looked to God for a mercy none would offer him.

 

(Sometimes, he wondered if it was more cruelty than kindness to have kept him alive.)

 

* * *

 

 

Bloody Mary had no faith in any heaven; rather, he was certain Earth was veritably hellish on its own. He was a man of indulgence, a consumer of veritable vice.

 

Of course, he knew it as a means of distraction - but there was little harm in delaying what was coming for him, anyway; he was sick of the salt taste of ablutions - he’d much rather savor the sweetness of champagne, the tartness of fine wine.

 

The feeling of power poised at the jugular, the dizzying, intoxicating rush. The claret spill, painted pretty against a canvas of porcelain flesh, the relief against the endless, pervading chill that froze his veins.

 

He believed in no heaven, no holiness. There was nothing heaven could offer to him, for salvation had never been within his grasp since that day: a mockery of baptism, drenched in the color of communal wine.

 

It was good, he reasoned, that he had been wearing that shade of red.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Another (longer) Bloody Mary and Pretzel fic is incoming after this! I have to do some edits over it, and plus exams are breathing down my neck, so. Well. That's something to look forward to!
> 
> Hope you have a nice day!


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